Wounded
by Citizenjess
Summary: Charles receives an unexpected phone call. Spoilers for "First Class."
1. Chapter 1

Summary: Charles gets an unexpected phone call. Written on a bit of a whim for patientalien. Spoilers for "First Class." Rated PG.

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><p><strong>Wounded<strong>

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><p>He gets the call at exactly 12:03 AM EST, and it's jarring, though he's not asleep yet. "Yes, this is Charles Xavier," he says thickly into the receiver. The woman on the other end speaks with efficiency, and though Charles has no trouble comprehending her words, he tunes the majority of them out once she utters "Erik Lehnsherr." The rest is a blur: "Explosion ... mildly serious injuries ... he's listed you as his emergency contact."<p>

Charles' mouth is dry. "I'll be there soon," he croaks.

It takes little fanfare to convince Hank to hurry him across the state in the Blackbird; contrary to popular belief, nobody in the Xavier mansion hates Erik, despite the schism. The nurse manning the reception desk blinks at him when she sees him roll up in his wheelchair, but he kindly refuses her offer to push him down the hallway. A short elevator ride that seems to take thrice the actual length passes, and he's finally propelling himself through the open doorway into a single room. Erik looks dwarfed and pale in the white-sheeted hospital bed. His face is turned away, and he appears to be resting. Of course, the helmet is off, though Charles notices it sitting on a small end table nearby.

"Thank you for your assistance," Charles tells the same nurse, and she takes it, aided by a slight mental suggestion, as her cue to leave. Charles wheels himself the rest of the way into the room, and Erik's head turns slowly, eyes blinking and cloudy. His expression is incredulous and somewhat pained, and Charles isn't sure whether it's because of the injuries he's procured from his latest aborted mission that ended in a building explosion and a chemical fire - the small burns on his skin are mostly bandaged, but Charles can sense that they hurt - or because it's the first time he's seen Charles in person since Cuba.

Erik doesn't say anything, and Charles finally acquiesces to breaking the silence. "Raven put my name down on the hospital paperwork," he says by way of greeting. "I spoke to her briefly," he adds, and taps his fingers to his temple gently. "She was panicked, and knew the mansion's number by heart." The words serve as both an explanation and a plea: 'Don't be angry with her. She was only trying to help.'

Erik licks his lips. "'s fine," he manages, and then, looking as though it takes even more effort to get out: "Thank you for coming."

"Of course." Charles tilts his head. "How are you feeling?"

Erik snorts warily. "Bad, but I'd rather be rotting in a pit somewhere than stay here." Still, he stays put, allowing the IV in his arm to pump pain medication into his system. Briefly, his eyes slide down to the chair. "I saw ... in a publication you'd been interviewed for. I didn't know." Their gazes meet. "I'm sorry, Charles."

"I know." Carefully, Charles reaches over and pats Erik's hand; he's warm, probably fevered. He tilts his head. "I've missed you, Erik."

Erik purses his lips. "So what else did Raven tell you?" he says, and it almost sounds colloquial.

Charles smiles. "Not a whole lot. I think she was holding back quite a lot." Erik doesn't respond to this either. "I think, though, that it was enough to fill in the blanks myself."

Erik peers at him curiously. "Oh, yes?"

"Mmm," Charles says affirmatively. He reaches over and pats Erik's face; surprised, Erik leans into the touch, and Charles leaves his hand there. "You haven't been sleeping well," he adds.

"I don't like hospitals," Erik intones without opening his eyes.

"Of course," Charles replies, even though they both know that's not what he meant. He tries again, using one finger to trace the dark circles underneath Erik's steely gray eyes. "I should take you home, then." His voice is light, but Erik's face is alert again. "Feed you soup, prop you up in a comfortable bed with lots of pillows."

"You use too many pillows." Erik's voice is worn. "Home, you say."

"Yes." Charles' voice is sad. "It still is, you know. Your room is still there, even. I mean, it's still yours. There aren't so many students yet that it's needed." He stops rambling and rubs his eyes. "It would have just the right amount of pillows."

"And soup," Erik adds. "And you, nursing me back to health, like you always do."

"I would go just for the soup," Charles jokes, but he barely laughs. Reluctantly, his hand drops from Erik's face. "I should go."

Erik nods. "You should." He watches Charles maneuver the wheelchair around in as graceful an arc as he can muster in the small room. "Charles," he finally adds, and he wonders if it will ever not hurt to say the other man's name.

"Yes, Erik?" Charles looks like he feels similarly.

Erik swallows. "I've missed you, too."

Charles doesn't turn back, and though the hand he offers to the other man is metaphorical, it is him reaching out, nonetheless. "If you ever need me, Erik, you know my number."

"I do," Erik affirms, and turns his head again once Charles has gone and resumes pretending to rest.


	2. Wounded 2: Electric Boogaloo

I wrote an alternate ending to this piece, because it just wouldn't leave me alone.

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><p>Erik doesn't really expect Charles to just leave him there; sure enough, the other man has summoned back the same nurse and requested his release in the same matter-of-fact manner that he once told Erik to move a satellite dish. The conversation between Charles and the nurse is on the borderline of heated: The nurse doesn't want Erik to be checked out of the hospital in his current condition, and Charles is politely adamant that it will happen. Erik half-expects for Charles to mind-trick the woman into docility, but he supposes that isn't Charles' way.<p>

Finally, after Charles agrees to take responsibility for Erik's pill management and assures the nurse that he has the resources to ensure that Erik will be safe while he heals up, she acquiesces to his terms. Charles murmurs soft words of encouragement to Erik as he summons Hank to assist them with getting both Erik and Charles loaded into the Blackbird. The blue-furred young man eyes Erik a tad dubiously, but bites his tongue.

Grateful but sleepy, Erik feels himself start to nod off on the ride back to Westchester. When Charles sees him struggling to remain awake, he pats him on the shoulder. "Rest, Erik. You need it. Nothing will hurt you here." Later, he won't admit to sending Erik a mental suggestion to obey him - because again, that's not how Charles Xavier does things - but Erik is snoring softly by the time they touch down at the mansion.

When he comes to, it is morning, though the heavy drapes in the room he occupies are drawn to keep out the sun. The surroundings are just warm enough, and they smell like Charles. Erik is taken aback by how familiar and inviting the scent is. He must be giving off mental signs of life, because suddenly the door opens, and there is Charles, crossing the threshold in his chair, all smiles.

"I'm glad you're awake." He extends a hand and presses the palm to Erik's forehead. He beams. "And your fever broke. Would you like some breakfast?"

Erik stares at him. There are many things he could say, and several he would like to; he settles on, "I was told there would be soup."

Charles' laughter is soft, surprised, but genuine. "Soup it is." His eyes gleam mischievously. "I had Hank remove some of the pillows. Is it to your liking?"

Erik makes a show of pretending to try out the bed he's already been occupying for most of the night. "Actually, I think it might have been better your way." The words hang between them, and Charles looks down at his lap. When he glances up again, his eyes seem larger somehow.

"Raven knows you're here," he says. "She also knows that she's welcome to come and see you. We agreed that you were safe." His next words are even more carefully chosen: "Of course, you are welcome to leave at any time."

Erik nods. "Thank you." He lets Charles cradle one of his hands; eventually, he inclines his head slightly. "Is it difficult getting used to that?" he asks, gesturing at Charles' wheelchair.

Charles considers this. "It makes you better appreciate the fluidity of the human body and all of its functions," he offers. "I suppose I miss my morning walks, though."

Erik's expression is cautiously hopeful. "Let me take you for a walk. When I'm not on bed rest."

Charles smiles. "I would like that. In the meantime," he adds, "You are, in fact, ordered to stay put. Doctor's orders."

"Professor's orders," Erik counters, but he doesn't budge. He does, however, sigh quietly when Charles leans in, kissing his forehead and his nose, carefully bypassing the bandage on his cheek, and then reaching his mouth. Their lips press together, and Charles laughs breathlessly when Erik's thoughts veer towards disgust over how medicinal he probably tastes.

"You're fine." He kisses Erik once more, and then pulls back and straightens in his chair. "Soup, and then some chess, I think." He pauses. "I'm glad you're here, Erik."

"Me too." When Charles leaves the room again, he glances at the dull gleam of his helmet sitting atop the dresser, horribly out-of-place, and he decides he will have Charles stow it in a closet when he returns; because, Erik knows, he will.


End file.
